Catharsis
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "He watches you when you're not watching him," she murmured simply. Shattering his good mood with all the ease of a basin of cold water pouring down his back.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the "King Arthur: Legend of the Sword." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** I started writing this a year or so ago and I recently started going through all my drafts. I wanted to present a story that showed how Arthur and Goosefat went from enemies to friends in the movie – and friends to lovers here.

**Disclaimer:** post movie, canon appropriate violence, adult language, pining, wooing, drama, angst, romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, emotional constipation.

**Catharsis**

_**Chapter One**_

If George hadn't been neck-deep in training the green lads the next yard over he would have twisted his bad knee on purpose. Begging off his usual forms so he could hiss at himself for being so distracted - in private. And he would have deserved it too. Because he wasn't paying attention.

Instead, he was watching Goosefat and Percival sparring on the other end of the yard. Dirty, yelling and sweating something fierce. Looking for all the world like boys at play- at least until you saw that friendly blood had already been spilled.

He seemed to be doing a lot of that these days.

_Watching Bill._

Something in his belly clenched warmly when Goosefat toppled Percival in the dirt and danced out of reach, grinning good naturally. Unable to look away when the man lifted his shirt and wiped his forehead. Revealing a flat swath of sparse black hair and enough scar-studded skin that it made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. Wondering where all his self-control had gone as his cock twitched in his breeches.

He shook himself, tossing the long stick he'd been training with to the side. Frustration rising as he cast about for something to distract himself with. Looking over at the castle just in time to catch a familiar blue robe and wind-swept hair.

"Back are you?" he commented as he joined her on the bench in the shade. Watching her stare across the yard where Bill and Percival were tussling in the dirt. Drawing a cheering crowd who were eagerly making wagers. "Its been almost a fortnight. Are the animals that good at conversation or have I become so boring you'd rather talk to them than me?"

A light wind stirred from the east. Bringing with it the smell of pine and roasting spices. Giving him the instinctive itch to travel even though Vortigern had been defeated barely a year hence. There was still far too much to do. And as much as he was loath to admit, it was his responsibility to see it done.

_So went the burden of the crown._

"He watches you when you're not watching him," she murmured simply. Shattering his good mood with all the ease of a basin of cold water pouring down his back.

The turn around was so swift he actually jerked. Feeling more like he'd been stabbed than forcibly enlightened as she squinted unconcernedly at the tangle of limbs. Barely reacting when Goosefat took a brutal elbow in the gut and wrenched air like he was dying.

"What are you talking about, Mage?" he barked, sharper than he intended.

A shout went up from the crowd as Percival pinned Goosefat to the dirt. Skidding gravel and dust into the air in a rising plume. Looking for a long moment like the match was over before Goosefat abruptly slackened. Dropping his hands from Percival's torso and shoulder in favor of chopping the blunt edge between the underside of his ribs. Collapsing Percival on top of him with a surprised grunt - giving Bill the opportunity to roll them. Scrambling away with a cocky grin as the crowd jeered.

"Have you ever wondered why he never took a wife?" she asked, a queer mix of frowning, closed-off serenity as she thumbed a frayed thread on her sleeve. Looking off towards the west.

"No," he grunted, grabbing a spare sword at random as he wrenched himself off the bench and away. Meaning to end the conversation. Refusing to look at her as he walked toward his corner of the training yard. Working his way through the fighting forms he knew like breathing. "Some men have no need of a woman."

He closed his eyes, immediately wanting to take the words back. It wasn't the type of scrutiny he wanted – or needed. Nor was it particularly truthful in his situation. He'd always been open-minded as far as potential partners went. Men. Women. He liked them both the same. But not everyone did. Not everyone understood.

A fit of wind howled down from the battlements as Maggie's ghost murmured at him to be careful. And she would know. She'd been the one to teach him when he'd been small. Reminding him to be careful on his errands, at least till he got some meat on him. Warning him that some of the men who lurked nearby were not always interested in soft breasts and a working girl's hole.

The Mage hummed in agreement. Surprisingly not calling him on his slip.

"There are many reasons why a man has no need of a wife," she repeated, eyes fixed back on where Goosefat was dousing his head in a water bucket to cool off. Smile lazy and self-satisfied as Percival handed him a wine skin. "Many are content to slake their needs in taverns. Free to live life without the ties of family or love. Or perhaps he believed his position too precarious - too dangerous - for him to justify the risk."

He didn't say anything.

"But you know better than most there are other reasons."

The sword was stone in his hands.

Clumsy.

So heavy that he had to ground the point in the sod so his hands didn't shake.

_Why, indeed?_

In his father's court Goosefat's position had been high and beyond reproach. Holding the King's ear and more importantly, his father's loyalty and friendship. His skills with a bow were the thing of legends, of course. But he was also a great warrior and a keen strategist. More than enough to entice a match from any family. Yet Goosefat remained alone. Unmarried. Unattached. And seemingly without the usual manly needs if rumor was to be believed. But the Lord wasn't cold. He had a quick wit and a ready laugh. Seeming to be permanently present, whether in the thick of things or watching from the edges. Taking to castle life after years as an outlaw with an ease he envied.

"I must show you something," she told him, whispering to her feet with a tired sigh. The flare of her blue cloak somehow managing to see unearthly as it billowed in the suddenly still air.

He nodded, mouth dry. Looking back at the training yard only to find Goosefat staring back at him with his arms crossed. Hair spiked with water and sweat, looking properly ridiculous, but somehow still dangerous. Watching. Calculating. _Dark. _Daring him to look away first as a shiver of something rippled through him. Not sure what to do with the feeling that they were standing on a cliff-edge – just him and Bill. And that nothing would ever be the same.

"Arthur…"

The spell broke and he turned, looking back at her as she beckoned from around the curve of the wall. Away from prying eyes. She waited until he was beside her before she walked precisely fifteen steps down the wall, fingers trailing over the pitted stone, before abruptly stopping. Crouching down on her haunches to show him a hidden stone that had been built into the castle wall. Pressing her hand on the corner that bore the chiseled outline of a raven. Feeling the burning charge of magic in the air as the stones melted away to reveal a doorway.

He shook his head, disbelieving.

He doubted he'd ever get used to it.

Near a year ago he might have said as much.

But not today.

Instead, he followed her down an empty stairwell that led deep into the bowels of the keep.

For once, as a silent as the dead.

* * *

He watched with wary curiosity as she built up the brier and flung a careful measure of something that tickled his nostrils into the open flames. Lighting the candles in their stone juts before adding a bundle of herbs into the coals that made the fire flare and roar. Smoke tinting blue for a handful of moments before dying down again. Burning strongly.

It wasn't until the flames flickered that he realized they were no longer standing in the room they'd been in moments earlier. Instead they were alone in a dark void of space. A place that didn't feel like it was anywhere- or anything.

"I can't see anything," he told her sullenly, eyes stinging at the smoke.

"So _see_," she intoned.

And suddenly he could.

Opening another set of eyes he didn't know he had to reveal a massive atrium hall.

_Was this the castle?_

_Yes, it was._

_Inside the Great Hall not four floors above!_

_But…whole. _

_Undamaged._

"What is this?" he asked, turning a circle as a strange sort of pressure started to squeeze in on either side of his ears. Making him feel like they were not alone as the echo of distant footfalls rolled. Louder and louder.

"A window," she answered simply, looking off at a growing point of light in the distance.

It wasn't like any sort of window he'd seen.

There was nothing but the dark and her pale face glowing in the-

"I don't like looking into the past," she admitted. Standing beside her as the darkness birthed shadows that turned into shapes. Surrounding them in ghosts. _People._ "It's loud. Chaotic. Strong emotions frozen in time. Just as potent as they were when it happened. ...There were many things to be seen that night. But you have only seen the death of a mother. A father. The betrayal of blood against blood. …There is much to see."

The scene took shape, as promised. Pulling at childish memories of walking these same halls with his mother. Playing with his cousin. Trailing the hem of his father's furs as he talked with commoners and dignitaries alike. He knew this place. _This_ _time_.

It was the night it happened.

The night Vortigern betrayed all bonds of loyalty.

Family.

_The night everything changed._

He took a step into the middle of the hall. Inhaling air that tarted like ocher and dust. Not stopping until he was one with the writhing stream of fleeing people. Feeling the chill as they past through him like dew. He turned, buffeted by crowds that had no substance. Feeling it in his bones as the smell of blood and smoke teased his senses. Ears ringing with the clash of swords and screaming.

He was trying to make sense of it when a court lady fell at his feet, brown hair loose and sheathed across her face. Looking up with pleading, terrified eyes as a Blackleg raised his sword, sneering down at her as blood dripped from the hilt. Promising her death. But before the sword could fall, an arrow blossomed from his back like a corpse flower. Sending the bastard lurching forward, almost crushing the lady, before a page boy pulled her to her feet, swinging her into his arms and back into the panic.

"Uther!"

Goosefat emerged from the smoke with a stumble. Keen eyes taking in the room before letting go of another arrow that met its mark with a hoarse cry. Bow string singing as he braced himself against a pillar, calling for his King.

His heart lurched in his throat. Righteous in its recognition.

Only this wasn't the man he knew today.

Because here Goosefat looked to be his age.

The man's name died on his lips before it could be voiced as Bill looked right through him. Making him flinch when he notched another arrow and aimed right at him. Letting the arrow go with a _woosh_ that itched between his ribs. Taking out two Blacklegs at once as a vicious smile played across the man's lips like a snarl.

Goosefat's hair was raven black and his face was younger, but otherwise, the man was remarkably the same. Searching for his friend and his King in a world turned mad. Having no way of knowing what was going on below.

"We must find him!" Goosefat yelled, unsheathing his sword as he swung his bow over his shoulder. Slashing at a group of Blacklegs chasing after a gaggle of servants wearing the garb of the King and Queen's chambers. "To the King!"

The scene shifted, moving faster than he could process as Goosefat and his men faded like an echo. Aware on some level that he was standing still as the allusion of moving through the corridors threatened to turn his stomach.

He caught sight of the man tearing his way through the Blackleg ranks. Taking a glancing dagger thrust to the side before twisting away again. Face streaked with dirt and blood spatter. Raising his sword as they surrounded him – circling. He tried to stay with him, but it was impossible. Everything was moving too fast. Too much. Giving him the perspective he'd lacked as faces blurred and a woman screamed.  
_  
How had his father known?_

_Had it been the sword?_

_Had he been warned?_

_Or had he merely woken up at the start?_

_A soldier's institution, perhaps?_

_He decided he liked that explanation best.  
_

Nausea pulled in the pit of his stomach before the world condensed again. Putting him plum in the middle of things as spittle flew from a Blackleg's lips and landed like a slap across Goosefat's cheek.

They had him alone and wounded in a dusty room filled with manuscripts and ancient texts. Forcing him to his knees with a sword at his throat. The usual smirk was there. But in place of the rest, Goosefat's face was haggard, bleeding from more wounds than he could count. Leather armor slick and dripping across the flagstones as a much younger Earl of Mercia cleared his throat. Pacing the room in a tense sort of victory.

But Goosefat had eyes for none but a young, ginger man he didn't know, sprawled brokenly by the tower window. The red-head was bleeding from a broken nose, his free hand tight around a spreading stain seeping from a wound in his gut. His bloody robes marking him as an apprentice mage.  
_  
It was a death wound._

"It's over, Bill," Mercia told him harshly. Speaking with enough familiarity that until this moment one might have believed they'd been friends. "Uther is dead. So is his heir. The line is finished."

Goosefat's throat bobbed through a swallow. A black eye darkening like storm clouds on the right side of his face as he looked up through the sweat that spiked his fringe. Every muscle as tense as a bow-string. But still the man said nothing.

_Loyal to the end._

"You chose the wrong side," Mercia trilled self-importantly. "Yet, our new King sees it fit to grant you pardon- giving you back the life you forfeited when you fought his soldiers when they breached the keep. All you must do is kneel and swear fealty. He will be merciful, especially to a man of your… talents."

Goosefat's lip twitched. Making him picture a low, sardonic smirk. Likely thinking the same thing he was.

_Not bloody likely._

"Did he now?"

"Aye, he did," Mercia nodded. Coming to stand in front of him as he jabbed at the cut that crowned Goosefat's temple. Sneering angrily when the action got him little reaction. "But just between you and me...you won't see it. You killed a lot of my men tonight. And more to the point, I know what you are. _Who you are_. You wouldn't hesitate to pierce his kingly head with one of your arrows the moment you got the chance, royal pardon to no."

The apprentice in the corner exhaled a wounded sound. Staring at Goosefat like he could see right through him and into the core of bone and sinew that gave him strength.

"Bill..."

He startled at the use of the man's given name. As reedy and thin as it was coming off a dying man's lips. But more than that, he couldn't help but notice that Goosefat was staring right back at him. Head shaking the barest of bits. Like he was trying to warn the wounded man off as Mercia unsheathed his sword.

"No, I didn't," Goosefat uttered steadily as the Earl's sword glinted in the candlelight. Reflecting the distant fires visible from the window as Camelot burned.

"Didn't what?" Mercia spat, hesitating with the sword pausing through a downswing that would have certainly lopped the man's head from his shoulders.

"I didn't choose the wrong side."

It was a queer thing, seeing the moment someone thought they were about to die. Seeing the finality settle between the lines of blood and exhaustion as the thin sliver of twinned blades slid down from the inside of the man's sleeves and into the hidden cup of his palms.

There was no way he could beat them all.

But Goosefat didn't expect too.

It was all over his face.

He took a step forward, impotent and useless as he reached out for the closest Blackleg's sword only to have his hand pass right through him. Realizing the only thing he could do was watch as the corner of Goosefat's lips drew up in a rictus smile.

He knew that look.

He was going to take down as many as he could before-

Three things happened almost at once.

First, Bill pivoted on his heel, stabbing the two Blacklegs on either side of him in the tendon-meat of their thighs. Second, Mercia's blade got stuck in mid-air. Flowing almost molasses-slow for a half-second, enough for Bill to duck and roll away. And finally, a weak blast of pure white light left the red-head's open palm. Every part of him ridged and in pain as he braced himself against the wall and sent Mercia and his men to the floor. Slamming them into the opposite wall and scrambling out on their hands and knees while the unlucky few who'd caught the brunt screamed to the eves. Skin blistering and cracking like they'd touched the sun.

"Burnett! No!" Goosefat yelled, skidding to him as the hall outside echoed with clangs and cries. "You should have saved your strength. Let me-"

He watched, heart in his throat, as Bill scooped up the Mage. Bracing his back against his chest as the boy coughed. Blood trickling from the corner of his lips as Goosefat tore at one of the Blackleg's cloaks. Grabbing the fabric and pressing it against the wound in the man's stomach. Expression painfully lost when the Mage cried out.

He'd never seen that expression on his face before.

And nor did he ever want to again.

"What are you doing here?" Goosefat rasped, pushing the boy's hair back with trembling fingers. "It isn't safe for you here. I thought we agreed?"

The red-head chuckled, wry and liquid-like as he looked up at him like Bill had hung the moon. Letting his hand fall away from the wound as a fresh trickle of red bubbled between Goosefat's fingers.

"No, _no_," Goosefat urged, trying put the Mage's hand back up to apply pressure before abandoning the venture half way. Peeling the cloak back only to hiss in when he saw the worst of it. "What did that bastard do to you? Burnett? Look at me, darling."

The younger man shook his head.

"I am prepared. You...you need to leave. They- they'll be back."

There were tears falling down Bill's cheeks.

"I'm not going anywhere, not without you."

The Mage shook his head, smiling small. Teeth outlined in crimson.

"You must...Its not your time."

He had to fight not to fold himself down by their side. Jaw so tight it hurt as he bore witness to a moment he had no business seeing. Hating himself for not being strong enough to turn away and let them have their peace. Forever weak wherever Bill was concerned. Far too hungry to _know_ to look away.

"Why did you come? You were safe in the mountains," Bill murmured, pressing a kiss into the man's hair in a flurry of angry grief. Lingering despite any moment the Blacklegs could come back.

"Because I knew... I knew you'd have need of me."

Bill opened his mouth, pained. The words he couldn't say etching themselves across his face like an emotional scar.

"My fate was written long before I tasted the Earl's blade," The Mage said gently, fingers curling around Goosefat's hand. "I knew ever since the Gods graced me with the sight. My time was always meant to be short. Far too short for regrets. So, let me leave this world in kind…hmm?"

"No, no. Stay with me. I only just found you," Goosefat whispered, cradling him like a babe as the boy's hand came up to cup his cheek. Thumb brushing stubble. Eyes kind, but fading.

"Remember what I told you…there will be another. I have seen him," the Mage whispered, shocking him when he looked over at him. _Seeing him._ Making his stomach drop as dying eyes saw beyond the veil. "I see him, even now. He stands tall. Young. Far stronger than I could ever be. He needs your guidance…and love. He is a better match for you than I. ...I didn't understand why for the longest time, but now…now I do."

"I don't want anyone else," Goosefat rasped, head bowed into the auburn flush of the boy's hair. "Burnett, don't-."

But this time when the Mage smiled, he was already gone. Eyes sightless in the way the dead often go before their heart stops beating. Part of them already gone on to somewhere better. Gods willing.

"Find Bedivere, he knows the path. The born king...he will- Arthur, the child, he's not dead. There is still hope. You must… find… him."

It was only then, leaving them with a prophesy that would shape both their lives, that with the shuddering exhale of a soul taking wind, the boy was gone.

"No…"

It wasn't a cry.

It was a whisper.

_A secret._

It was the only word Bill let go of as he clutched the boy tightly to him. Rocking him shallowly as the Mage's head lolled gently in the dip of his shoulder. Tears dappling his lover's cheeks as the moment grayed and they were back in the lower rooms of the castle. The fire in the brier spitting weakly into ash and dust.

"He has not allowed himself to love another for a long time," she told him simply, eyes blinking back to normal as the wildness left her. "...Until you."

She was gone by the time he'd collected himself enough to face her.

And for the first time, he was glad of it.

* * *

That night he dreamed of Bill.

And not once did he close his eyes.

* * *

He didn't wake up until well past dawn. Sleeping longer and far better than he could ever remember.

He was so distracted trying to parse out why that he forgot to yell at the page-boys who came to dress him for the day.

There was a first time for everything, he supposed.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. - There will be one more chapter.

**Reference:**

\- catharsis: release of emotional tension.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the "King Arthur: Legend of the Sword." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** I started writing this a year or so ago and I recently started going through all my drafts. I wanted to present a story that showed how Arthur and Goosefat went from enemies to friends in the movie – and friends to lovers here.

**Disclaimer:** post movie, canon appropriate violence, adult language, pining, wooing, drama, angst, romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, emotional constipation, kissing.

**Catharsis**

_**Chapter Two**_

He let the matter rest for a fortnight.

One thing was clear, the dead Mage had spoken truth to two people that night.

Himself and Bill.

It had been surprisingly easy to accept he was in love with him. He hadn't needed a ghost to tell him what he already knew. Swallowing that it was Goose's destiny to fall for him had been harder. Not that he didn't think highly of himself, mind you. But it seemed too good to be true. And from the lips of a dead lover?

These were truly strange times.

He wasn't the fool some of the lower court took him to be. He knew what want looked like on a man's face. And he'd seen enough to know that Goose looked at him the same way. The interest between them was warm and tangy-sweet, like the salt-water sweets the old woman with the split ear-lobes used to sell at the wharfs. And better yet, it was mutual.

Now, he just had to figure out what to do about it.

* * *

The unfair advantage nagged at him as the days passed. Cursing his own Mage for her meddling as he stewed in the memories. Unable to stop himself from replaying the moment Goose held the dying man to his breast, voice cracking with emotion. Equally weak for admiring the way Bill fought in his younger days. Starting to understand what made the man tick as he went over the expression on Goose's face when he thought he was about to die over and over.

But that wasn't the point.

He'd seen something personal in what the Mage had shown him.

Without the man's consent.

And it itched at him something unholy and fierce.

It was all made worse by the fact that Goose was less than forth coming when it came to his thoughts, let alone his past. He kept those secrets close to his chest. Safe. Which he respected. God knows he had his fair share. Everyone was entitled to them. King or peasant. Noble or whore. It wasn't right for them to be used by others as currency. Good intentions or not.

And it was that sense of fairness that made him want to even the score.

Vulnerability to vulnerability.

It was only fair after all.

Or maybe he wanted to figure out what could come of all this.

Maybe both were true.

And as luck would have it, it wasn't long before he got his opportunity.

* * *

He was in the stables, brushing down his charger, when the tell-tale _thwock_ and _swish_ echoed from the upper archery range. A grin stretched across his face as he tossed the brush to one of the stable boys.

There was only one man with the balls to use his private range.

He wandered in with a quiet tread. Seating himself behind him as Goose hit his mark, again and again. Ranging from the larger targets to the small bags of sand swinging from strings in the air, seemingly at random. Calm. Measured. Deliberate.

He shifted, arousal stirring at the display. There'd always been something about seeing Goose behind a bow that'd made everything else make sense. Considering their less than amical beginnings, it had been essential. It wasn't about seeing the man behind the legend. It was about seeing why the legend existed. And how it was woefully under reported, if you asked his opinion.

"Can I help you, my lord?" Goose asked eventually. Not bothering to turn around as he casually split an arrow in half at the bull's eye. Knowing the peacocking was for his benefit as he grinned at his back.

"Oh no, I wouldn't dream of interrupting you," he replied, tone warm and easy with just a hint of playful mixed in. Willing to use every advantage when it came to catching the infamous Goosefat Bill off guard. "I'm just here to help myself."

_That did it._

The line of Bill's back stiffened. Slight enough that you'd only catch it if you were watching for it. Knowing he had the man's full attention as he faced him. Eye brow arching with his usual sardonic humor.

"I can only assume you mean me," Goose murmured slyly, distancing himself from the meaning under the guise of a jape. Like he expected him to laugh or make a jest. Anything to clear the sudden, sweet tension that'd risen in its wake.

But he didn't.

Instead, he just smiled at him, knowing he'd surprised him when he merely nodded.

"Aye," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he kicked back. Leaning against the wall. The picture of ease as he left it at that. Basking in Goose's frown. Watching as he eventually shook it off and went back to practicing.

_The girls would be proud._

_Thank the gods for his back-ally education._

_Otherwise, he might have been discouraged._

He let him get in a few more before he was up and standing beside him. Handing him the skin of water he'd brought. Brushing shoulders companionably as the bow lowered in Goose's hand. Distracted. _Good_.

"Thirsty work," he commented scuffing his toe in the training yard dust. Eying the trickle of sweat that was making its way down from the man's hairline. "This should tide you over."

He felt the weight of Goosefat's eyes when the man hesitated. Breaking the awkward moment as the man exhaled and wiped his forehead. Nearly draining the skin as he took a good, long drink.

"Thank you."

He nodded. Looking over at the targets, all liberally pin-cushioned with arrows. Swearing he could feel the man's body-heat soaking through his shirt. Knowing the moment was right when Goose shifted again.

"It pained me to give you up, you know, at the whorehouse," he started, jutting a thumb in the lazy direction of Londinium. "Lads like me grew up on tales of you giving the Blacklegs the slip. Stuff of legends, you were. But I had to protect the girls and my crew."

Goose let him talk. No doubt trying to suss out what this was all about. Sharp as a tack and thrice as dangerous as they stood together. Neither of them making any effort to put space between them. Giving him mind that he might just be getting somewhere after all.

He waited until Goose had raised his bow again before he continued.

"Can't say it was _all_ hero worship though, when I finally got a look at you," he hummed cheekily. Fixing him with an openly appraising look. Admiring and bold in turn.

Bill almost missed his mark with the next arrow.

Making him grin to himself as he clapped the man on the back and sauntered away.

Giving something of himself away had never seemed easier.

* * *

"Here to spar, your majesty?"

It was days later that Goose got even with him.

Or at least that's what he let the man think he was doing.

The fact he'd walked past the training yard at the precise time he knew Goose was set to spar might have had something to do with it. That and his open bribery of more than a few page-boys to send the hangers-on on all manner of 'urgent errands'. Leaving them mostly alone and more than a little worked up.

"You offering?" he returned, starting on the laces of his shirt as he stripped it off. Watching the man's eyes dip low before coming back up again. Goose loosened his collar, but made no move to pull it off. Staring at him from across the pounded dirt as the older man's stance shifted into something violent and delicious.

"Offering?" Goose repeated, with a smile that screamed bared teeth. "No. I _insist_."

_Oh, this was going to be good._

* * *

It was, and they both paid for it.

Blowing off more than steam as they'd tussled and scrapped. Kicking up dirt, dust and blood as smooth fighting morphed into the kind of brawling he wouldn't have thought a lord would sink to. But was well aware Goose would be the first to see it done. Making him work for every advance as he twisted and snarled. Leaving him with the distinct impression that all of Goose's close calls had been won out of pure spite and an uncanny ability to completely exhaust his opponent.

He was star-fished across the ground when they finally gave up. Winded and groaning. Bill went a step further and wheezed something uncomplimentary as he staggered to his feet, holding his side.

He smirked up at him, rolling blood across his tongue before he swallowed it out of pure pride. Eying Goose with more than just muted, friendly murder as the man took the water pitcher and promptly dumped it over his own head. A true sight to behold as water splattered in every direction.

"You two done flirting?" George hollered from across the yard, making some of the onlookers hoot and holler. "I do have work to get done, you know!"

They both ignored him.

"Coming to the feast tonight?" he asked instead. Like they hadn't just spent the last half an hour politely trying to kill one another.

"Of course," Goose answered, turning to look at him as water streamed from his hair. Cheek blooming with a bruise that promised to turn a lovely shade of purple.

"Good," he said decisively, making no move to get up as he stretched. Preening. Muscles tightening as his spine moved in a particularly satisfying arc. Smirking as Goose merely stood there, staring.

Like for once, he wasn't sure what to say.

It was a good look for him, he decided.

* * *

He wasn't sure why, but he was always surprised – or at least left breathless – whenever Goose appeared in clothes befitting his station. He figured it was because Goose had never fit into the neat lines the nobility tended to pride themselves on. Choosing practicality over fashion any day of the week. All the better to fit into crowds and what not. And _that_ was exactly the situation he found himself in when Goose walked into the great hall close to an hour into the feast.

He gestured for him to sit beside him, putting food on his plate and gesturing for the women to fill their cups. Openly admiring the new linen shirt he was wearing. The cuffs were a work of art in of themselves - elegant and stiff with green and silver embroidery. Cloak lined with white mink and a simple, but quality padded lining.

"Dressed for the occasion, did you?" he teased, leaning in so his lips almost brushed the shell of Goose's ear. Uncaring of who was watching as the man snorted beside him. The cautious expression he'd been sporting since that moment in the archery range smoothed into something far more favourable as he took a hearty drink from his goblet.

"Not all of us can be satisfied living in the same shirt," the man returned, smile warm. Allowing him to serve him despite the audience they were rapidly attracting from the other tables. "Though, I do see someone must have burned everything else in your wardrobe… you actually look somewhat Kingly today, your grace."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he hummed, pleased. Feeling the low throb of excitement pulsing hot in his belly as he added a few fatty cuts of pork to the man's plate.

"You should," Goose replied, voice low and just as warm as his. Making a pleased sound when he took to his cups. Recognizing the fine vintage as the particularly good southern red from his personal stores. "Because it was."

He didn't smirk or even grin at the compliment. Instead, he reached over and rested his hand on the man's forearm. Gripping it firmly for just a moment too long. Soaking in the way Goose's skin tensed, twitched, then slowly relaxed under his palm.

He wasn't about to leave anything to chance.

_Not this time._

* * *

It was a few hours later, when the eating had slowed and the minstrels and dancers were taking a well-deserved break, that Goose turned to him in the low light. Wine rouging the arcs of his cheeks with pleasant warmth

"You're aware the entire hall is watching us?"

He nodded, chin dipping to his chest as the smoke from the hearth misted the room in a pleasant haze.

"I am."

"And this doesn't bother you?" Goose murmured, expression amused and decided open as he gestured into the open space with his goblet, his pinky finger doing the pointing.

"Does it bother _you_?" he asked instead. Getting the distinct impression Goose was actually impressed with him as he used to the pause to refill their cups.

"I'm generally more subtle in my-"

The way Goose cut himself off was deliciously damning. Expression switching from amusement to a deliberately blank look he knew well. Likely silently cursing his wine-loose tongue, if he was a betting man.

And he was.

"In your _what_?" he teased, knowing he had him.

But it was better than that.

Because Goose knew he knew.

It was all out in the open now.

_Mutual_.

"We could go somewhere private," he suggested lowly, soft enough for only them to hear. Ducking close as the clean scent of him parched his mouth worse than the wine. Watching Bill's lips part, tongue peaking out to wet them. Hedging but hungry.

"My lord, I don't-"

He shook his head, firming his shoulder against his in a deliberate press. Intimate and warm.

"Save your protests. This isn't a jest. I mean what I say. This is an earnest offer if you feel the same. Only if you feel the same, mind," he told him, knowing he'd understand his meaning. "I know what I want…maybe it's bold of me to think you feel the same. But- there is something…isn't there?"

Goose put down his cup. Making him wonder if the man was thinking of about the dead mage's words. That after all these years, the person he'd been waiting on was the same one he'd greeted with a slap the second time they met.

He couldn't help but smile into his goblet.

_Of course they had._

He didn't expect anything less, in fact.

"I could do with more of that wine...and your company," Bill finally allowed, leaning back in his chair, before eying the door in a clear signal. And while it wasn't a ringing approval, it was the kind of cautiously hopeful he could work with.

He watched the man leave with a veiled look Beatrice would've been proud of before he counted to ten and a hundred and followed him. Snagging a flagon of wine from a serving girl as he went. Sending her a saucy wink that had her grinning into her curls and scurrying away. Blushing like a flower.

More wine, indeed.

* * *

Bill surprised him by curling a hand around his neck and slamming him up against the door with a stuttered grunt the moment he entered his chambers. Nearly dropping the damn wine as the sharp rasp of teeth grazed the underside of his chin. Making him gasp.

"You wouldn't know subtlety if it slapped you _daft_," the man rasped, clearly just as gone as he was as. With the kiss that followed nearly knocking them both senseless. A mess of chapped lips, wine-tongue and overly aggressive nips that made him wonder if the man had drawn the first blood of the evening after all.

His hand flailed as he put the flagon on the side table and yanked Bill closer. Taking this kiss slower, softer, and so damn good it made his small clothes tight. Feeling the tension corded in the man's muscles as he dug his fingers into old bruises. Wanting him to feel how real this was. To prove how much he wanted this to work – now and tomorrow. To-

It was Bill who pulled away this time. Lips leaving his with a ragged sound. Like he was surprised at himself and maybe a bit vulnerable, before the emotion was quickly shuttered again. Replaced with a careful, hopeful sort of look that had his heart pounding all over again, just for a different reason.

"I might be a bit out of practice at this," the man admitted ruefully. Grin boyish as he looked up at him, making no move to step away. Boldly claiming their closeness.

His fingers twitched. Fielding the temptation to forget all the words he'd been rehearsing, in favor of kissing him again. Knowing that some things needed to be said. And he wanted to do this right.

He swallowed hard.

"Makes no mind to me… I'm good at waiting. Especially for the things that're worth waitin' for," he returned, all heat. Absolutely nothing like the words he'd practiced, but equal to the moment all the same.

The pleased, heated look on Bill's face was worth his crown as they sat down to drink.

Something told him the man wouldn't make him wait long.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.


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